Saving Corporal Macey
by Blogbot
Summary: War is hard. Foley's squad went on a mission in Afghanistan, but things went wrong. Now Dunn, the squad medic, fights to save the life of one of his friends. About the true nature of war. One-shot.


Saving Corporal Macey

"_T__hey won't understand why we do it. They won't understand that it's about the men next to you, and that's it. That's all it is."_ - Hoot in _Black Hawk Down_

**Afghanistan, 2016AD, The Red Zone**

Corporal Macey lay on the kitchen table, his black face writhing in agony, unable to spasm due to the ranger holding his arms down above him. His pupils were dilated. The look of a man delirious from pain.

Corporal Dunn struggled to prevent the bleeding from the man's leg. The bullet had hit the femoral artery in his left leg. Blood pulsated out of the wound, spraying his face and body armour with red. Several more armed rangers watched, praying, wishing they could help.

"Roycewicz!," Dunn yelled rapidly to the Ranger beside him, "Help me. I need more pressure on the bleeding."

Macey let out a sharp yell as two more hands forced themselves into the bullet hole. Dunn called out again, speaking fast.

"Sergeant! This man needs a medivac **now!**"

Sergeant Foley stood back from the chaos. He pulled the small black radio from his chest piece and moved it to his mouth. His deep voice remained collected under pressure, speaking clearly.

"Command, this is Hunter Two-One Actual. I have a man wounded in a critical condition. Request immediate medivac over."

The speaker crackled before the response came back.

"Err, that's a negative Hunter Two-One," the man's tone was impartial to the situation, "the skies are too hot. A convey of HMMWVs is on route but we have no support available until that time. Over."

Roycewicz's hands had become completely red, forcing themselves into the hole in the man's leg.

"Dunn," he said, voice unusually high pitched in panic "We aren't stopping the bleeding."

"I know Private," Dunn hissed back, "the artery's retracted back into his body."

Macey wailed loudly. More men gathered to hold him down.

Dunn called out again to Foley. "Sir! Where's that medivac!"

"Skies to hot corporal," Foley's reply was still level-headed, "We're on our own."

Dunn swore furiously. "Command's fucked us up again!"

"Sir," Roycewicz appealed, "is there any way we can stop this bleeding?"

Frantically, Dunn remarked. "No! The arteries retracted up! The only way would be to-"

Dunn's already pale faced turned completely white, excluding the dots of blood splatted across. A realisation had just hit him, hard.

"Macey, man," his tone changed, no longer loud and aggressive. Instead, he almost whimpered the words. "I have to do something. It's gonna hurt you, a lot. But I have to do it."

Macey's eyes were wide, pain leaving his mind not entirely there. Struggling, he spat out one word.

"M-morphine."

Dunn shallowed.

"I can't man. Your heart rate's too low. But I have to do this."

Slowly, Macey nodded. He clenched his jar, not truly knowing what was about to come.

"G-grab those tweezers." Dunn was stuttering as he requested Roycewicz, who nervously did as he so.

Dunn's eyes closed, mentally preparing himself. He plunged into the wound, his entire forearm disappearing in thick red ooze.

Macey's scream filled the room. The ranger above his head using his entire body weight to hold him down. Dunn's face was clenched, willing himself to find the artery.

"Roycewicz!" Dunn was bellowing again, "I've got it! Are you ready?"

His hands shaking slight, Roycewicz said yes. The noise in the room died. Macey had passed out from the torture.

Dunn grunted, pulling on the man's insides. His arm reappeared, holding the fleshy, red, bleeding artery, it's shredded. Roycewicz grabbed it, holding it up with the long tweezers.

"Corporal!" he was also yelling now, "it's tearing!"

"Hold it!" Dunn was applying a clamp, lost in focus.

"Dunn! I'm losing it!"

"Almost."

Dunn stepped back and checked the wounded man's pulse. It was weak, but it was there. A smile appeared on his face. Roycewicz let the artery go, finding a chair to sit on. They're joy was echoed throughout the building. Dunn's entire forearm was soaked in Macey's blood, but he didn't care. Macey was alive.

The two couldn't help it. They broke out laughing.

"Dunn," Foley requested, "What's his status?"

Still chuckling, "Unconscious sir, but breathing. He won't last long without a hospital."

"Roger that corporal. You and Roycewicz clean up and watch him. Everyone else, find a window and make sure this building stays secure."

Macey awoke. His head wobbled, he was still delirious.

"Did you do it?"  
"Yeah," laughed Dunn, "we did it."

* * *

Dunn sat back in the cheap wooden chair, blood wiped off his face and armour. Roycewicz sat across from him. They had cleaned out the wound, table and floor. The clamp could only slow the bleeding, Macey still needed medical treatment. He still lay on the table, brown face incredibly pale.

Dunn was speaking. Him and Roycewicz were there to monitor Macey, but they also attempted to remove his thoughts from his pain.

"I'm telling you, The Futurama was a **way **better show then The Simpsons."  
"No way," replied Roycewicz, "The Simpsons made that show it's bitch."

"No look. On the Simpsons we had Bender. Now if you were a kid and wanted to learn anything about life, all you had to do was watch that drunken robot. He was truly an inspiration to the children."

"Say what you want Dunn, but I don't remember Futurama making twenty seasons."

Macey gave a small laugh, which quickly turned into a stuttering cough. Roycewicz watched him, letting him finish before continuing.

"Man I used to watch The Simpsons all the time. Drove my mom crazy. Remind me to apologise when I get state-side."

Dunn chuckled. Macey spoke next, his voice weak under his injury.  
"You know, I didn't have no T.V growing up. Well, cept that one time. Me and some guys broke into this store and took one. My ma was furious. The next morning she grabbed me by the ear and marched me down there to carry the fucking thing back."

He struggled to laugh at his own story, wheezing. Dunn and Roycewicz both chuckled.

"Man," he continued, face suddenly sombre, "I was a fucked up kid you know? Hang around with bad people, broke the law a lot. My ma, man my ma, she never gave up on me though. I think that's why I joined the army. I was sick of her seeing me screw up like I did, wanted her to be proud of me for a change."

Macey choked on nothing, his black face was losing most of it's colour. He glanced at the hole in his leg, blood slowing oozing out of the wound.

"Looks like I couldn't even achieve that."

"Are you kidding me man," cut in Roycewicz, "You probably saved the life of at least one ranger out there. Maybe more. You did what you were trained to do, and you were a fucking fantastic soldier."

Macey managed a faint simile.  
"Hey guys, tell my ma alright? Tell her I did good here."

Dunn laughed. "What are we, fucking messenger monkeys? When we're home, you can tell her your self."

* * *

"Roycewicz! Put some god-damn pressure on that fucking wound!" Dunn could not scream the words, their presence in the building might be given away, but he still spoke them loud enough for them to echo within the rooms tight walls.

Macey lay motionless on the tabletop, eyes wide open, completely empty. Dunn stood over him, using both hands, open palmed, to pound into his chest.

"Breath dammit, breath."

Roycewicz stuck both his hands into the wound, pushing hard, to prevent futher bleeding, but feeling hopeless to the situation around him. He gazed on at Dunn, praying silently, hope draining from his eyes. More rangers had entered, all looking around for ways they could help.

Dunn pushed his mouth to Macey, attempting to breath life into the dead man. Two breaths. Then he was back to pushing on his heart.

Sergeant Foley observed the scene, admiring their dedication to each other. But he had seen enough of war to know a lost hope.

"He's gone soldier."

Dunn paid him no attention, continuing to give the CPR. He forced his face against Macey's a second time.

Macey's chest didn't rise. Dunn could not stimulate a pulse back in his body. The ranger finally gave up, jumping to the kitchen bench nearby, swinging his arms in fury as he threw the objects on it to the ground. Bowls clattered on the floor, cereal boxes spilt.

"Fuck!"

Foley intervened. "Will you calm down corporal!"

"Sir, a good man just died, cause command wouldn't risk a chopper. He died to save them some god-damn hardware!"

"Listen to me soldier," Foley's voice was powerful, like a father comforting his son, "Your not new to war. You damn well know that had they sent a chopper you'd be treating the men who were shot securing the crash site. Get it together."

Roycewicz did not observe any of this. He stood over the body, eyes scrunched together, speaking to himself, trying to understand the events that just unfolded.

"It's ok," he muttered, almost crying, "this is war. It's ok."

Foley turned to him. He knew his squad. It was Roycewicz first combat mission, and Macey was his friend. He knew he would take it hard. Foley had to attempt to put things in perspective.  
"Private," he said, "Corporal Macey was a good soldier. But this is war. Good people die, and there's not a damn thing anyone can do to stop it."

Roycewicz opened his eyes, staring straight into Foley's.

"Sir, we promised to watch each other. This was our first time out. We promised to get each-other out."

"Don't pretend to yourself you control who gets shot," his voice was raised, slightly angry. Inspirational, but frightening. "Now get up. Some of us are still alive. The convoys on it's way. We need you."


End file.
